


Field exercise

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean arrange things so Castiel takes point on a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field exercise

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to geckholic for the beta. Set after season 8. For catboatventure, who prompted: “You fainted and I caught you. It was the first time I’d supported a human. You had such heavy bones. I put myself between you and gravity. Impossible.” -- Elizabeth Knox; The Vintner’s Luck.

It was a test. The Winchesters didn't put it to Castiel that way, of course, but Castiel sensed it, in the way they hung back, the way Sam and Dean each would start theorizing, then cut themselves off and say instead, "so, what do you think, Cas?" The emotions this arrangement drew up in him were a conflicting mixture (as so many feelings often were). He was amused and wondered if he should feel insulted--he was still a warrior of God after all, even if his grace was not as strong as it once was--or moved at their faith in him, that they would take the trouble. 

Either way, they maneuvered Castiel into taking point on the search for the tikbalang, which were not common to North America, but all the clues towards what was causing people to vanish in the woods of West Virginia pointed to one of those creatures.

Sam and Dean and Castiel spread out, walking parallel to each other through a grove of white ash, their footsteps gone silent, something Castiel had never needed his grace to do. Soft wings fluttered up in the branches.

The third time he passed the same tree--Castiel recognized the particular pattern of the scaling on the trunk, the rotten fallen log near it--he halted, gripping his shotgun.

"Both of you, stop," Castiel ordered, and Sam and Dean did.

Dean glanced around at the trees near him, and realization made his shoulders slump. "Oh, crap."

"We're in the thing's trap," Sam said, moving closer along with Dean, until the three of them stood in a close circle. 

"I should've sensed it immediately," Castiel muttered, kicking his toe into the detritus.

Once upon a time, the being's tricks wouldn't have affected him. But his senses were duller now, even if more heightened than a human's.

"We all should've caught it sooner," Dean said, bumping Castiel's arm with his elbow, and the touch lessened the growing knot of annoyance and guilt building in Castiel's chest. "Can you, y'know--" Dean made a flying motion with his hand.

"I'm sorry." Castiel shook his head. 

He noted how quickly Dean tried to hide the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "Well, tikbalang's nothing we haven't dealt with before," Dean said, giving Castiel a quick, reassuring grin instead before turning away.

*

Sam marked notches on the trees with his knife as they walked, so they could see immediately when they had looped around again. They stopped to rest often, because they needed to conserve energy.

The sun began to go down, glimmering through the leaves and making all shadows longer. Castiel always had enjoyed the light of earthly sunsets, but now something about them hurt as well, a reminder of what he'd lost.

He'd learned there were better ways to help than anger at his new limitations but still it gnawed at him, like the itchiness of his body that he'd started noticing more and more, particularly his nose, especially when it was inconvenient to scratch.

Sam and Dean got into an argument over ways to break free of a tikbalang's trap. They tried several tricks from hunter lore that Dean said had worked in the past, to no effect.

"Maybe this one's more powerful," Sam said. "Or it's not a tikbalang, but something with a similar M.O?"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said. "You don't have another bottle of water on you, do you?"

Sam shook his head.

Darkness fell and they built a fire with Dean's lucky lighter. Castiel refused the power bar Dean offered him. 

"You only have four of those on you," Castiel pointed out. "And you both will have need of them before I will."

Dean tapped the bar against the sleeve of Castiel's denim jacket--a more practical choice than the trenchcoat for hunting, Castiel had discovered. "C'mon. You need it too."

"Not yet," Castiel said. It was more pleasant to watch the play of flickering light and shadows over Dean's face than to contemplate how long they might be trapped.

Letting out an irritated grunt, Dean tucked the power bar back into his pocket. He and Sam ate half a bar each and wrapped up the rest for the next day.

They slept on the ground by the dying fire, shotguns tucked alongside them, Sam on one side of Dean, Castiel on the other. Sam began to snore almost immediately. Dean also seemed restful, eyes closed and breaths even.

Castiel turned to lie facing Dean, and thought of Purgatory. 

While he wasn't certain the degree he technically needed to sleep, since his grace was diminished Castiel had found it restorative, and dreams an extremely interesting phenomenon, either alarming or pleasurable. But his muscles remained tense, his senses alert. He found himself longing for the comfort of what Castiel had started to label as _home._ Just two nights ago he'd fallen asleep with his limbs entwined with Dean's, the two of them curled together on the memory foam mattress in Dean's room at the bunker. 

Castiel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It didn't help.

Then he felt Dean's hand find his, fingers threading into Castiel's until their hands were palm-to-palm. Dean held on as Castiel fell asleep.

*

The next day, they found themselves no closer to getting out of the trap. Tell-tale prints showed in the mud.

"It's tracking us," Dean said, as he and Sam consumed the other half of their energy bars. 

"They don't usually prey on people, they just play tricks," Sam said.

"Not this one." Dean rubbed his fingers on his forehead and blinked. He looked tired, going undone and ragged at the edges, as did Sam.

Lack of water could become a problem, and eventually lack of food. Castiel frowned, reaching out to test the boundaries of the creature's magic, to see if he could push through it, and the results were slippery. His powers were no longer enough.

"Once we kill it, we'll be free of the trap, right?" Sam asked.

"Should work," said Dean. He stood up from their resting spot in a clearing, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. "Well yippee ki yay, let's find Predator and go home already."

*

It attacked them at dusk, leaping from a dense cluster of bushes. The Winchesters were ahead of Castiel, and their reflexes hindered by two days without proper food or water. Dean shoved Sam aside before the creature lowered its long snout and swiped Dean with its curving horns, flinging him to the ground. Castiel raised his shotgun. 

He fired at the same moment as Sam, both rounds hitting the monster in the chest. The thing bellowed and lurched towards them, away from Dean. Reload, fire again. Castiel's hands were steady. 

The tikbalang collapsed to the ground.

Even in the fading light, the dark stain of blood on Dean's shirt was easy to see as he tried to push himself up with one hand, other arm across his stomach to try to staunch the bleeding. Castiel couldn't seem to move. He might never move again. He felt chilled; he hadn't been cold earlier.

"Hey, hey, Dean, stop. Stay down." Sam rushed over and crouched beside his brother, grabbing his shoulder.

Dean let out several curse words and allowed Sam to pull him over to lean against a tree.

While Sam busied himself taking off his sweatshirt to press it against Dean's wound, Castiel stepped forward and dropped to his knees in front of Dean, shotgun falling to the ground from slack hands.

There was a lot of blood, staining Dean's shirt.

"Dean," Castiel said, the knot of helplessness rising nearly to choke him. He moved closer, helping Sam press on the wound, Dean's blood sticky and warm over his fingers.

"He's losing too much blood." Sam fumbled with his cell phone, nearly dropped it, as he started to dial 9-1-1.

"It will take time for them to find us all the way out here, in the dark." Castiel looked right at Sam. "I can heal him."

"No," Dean snapped. "It's not that bad, okay? You heal me and you won't have enough mojo left if something happens when it really counts."

A burst of irritation shot through Castiel. At times Dean Winchester was absolutely infuriating. 

"This _counts_ ," Castiel growled, and kissed Dean to make sure he'd stop talking. He felt Dean's hand go up to touch the back of his head, digging into his hair.

Castiel broke the kiss, roughly pulling away, and brought his hands up to cradle Dean's face. It left streaks of Dean's own blood on his cheek and jaw, which hardly seemed to matter. In fact it was hardly necessary to touch Dean in this fashion, yet Castiel did it anyway. Under his hands Dean winced and then sighed in relief as the healing completed, his breath warm against Castiel's skin. 

As Castiel let go and drew back, Dean stared at him. Then he looked down and tugged up his shirt, revealing smooth, unbroken skin.

"Shit." Sam's voice was very shaky.

Castiel took Dean's arm and pulled him up. As Dean staggered, Castiel put his arm fully around him, steadying him, holding Dean's entire weight for a moment. He found him surprisingly heavy, and yet it made Castiel's breath catch, the reminder of the vulnerability of bone and flesh that were all too easily torn and damaged.

"Uh, so…thanks," Dean said, not seeming to mind that Castiel's arm still supported him. "And nice work, you and Sam, taking that thing down."

"Guess it went rogue or insane or something," Sam said, glancing behind them at the remains. "We'd better go back to the car and get shovels. We need to bury it." His gaze snapped back to his brother, and stayed there for a while. 

Dean pulled out of Castiel's grasp, standing on his own. "I'm good. Really," he said, waving them both off from helping him walk. 

The last lingering trace of sunset provided a furious red light through the trees.


End file.
